


All That Dreams

by jtav



Category: Pathfinder: Kingmaker (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fantastic Racism, Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 13:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jtav/pseuds/jtav
Summary: Munira dreamed of building a great kingdom, but it wasn't easy being queen when fiendish blood ran through her veins. True love was even more complicated. But she wouldn't give up without a fight.





	All That Dreams

Octavia stepped back, the brightness of her smile belying the fatigue in her eyes. "Done. Are you sure you don't want me to go for ravishingly beautiful? You deserve it."

Munira blushed despite herself. She had turned the Stolen Lands into something resembling a civilized kingdom, but some wounds would never heal and she would always have the childhood desire to be pretty as well as smart. She checked herself in the mirror. A familiar illusion of a scarred human woman with dark eyes stared back at her. She told herself that it was far better than the sores and pustules some long-forgotten daemon ancestor had cursed her with. Not frightening her subjects was enough. And, most days, she believed it. "This will do. We have a cure to deliver."

Octavia's face darkened. "Irovetti is a bastard. Bandits, wild animals, and now he sends spies to poison the water! I hope you give him a punch in the nose after you take his crown. No one who takes such joy in suffering should be allowed to have power over people."

"Agreed." Laughter and soft music seemed to echo in the air. It would be another grain for Nyrissa's Apology, filling it almost to the brim. She was a queen and still serving the will of others. But it couldn't be helped. Irovetti wanted Lemair, and Munira would not let those who depended upon her suffer what he would do to them. And when the time came, she would bring peace, justice, and true art to Pitax.

The laughter in her mind grew louder. Or perhaps she was just Nyrissa's hound, willing to serve her will because she, the hideous tiefling had attracted the attention of an otherworldly beauty just like in the tales in her uncle's library.

She squared her shoulders. None of that mattered when her people were dying of poison. She checked her case of infusions and made sure the crown glittered proud and straight on her head. "Shall we go?"

Tuskdale still bustled, despite Irovetti's best efforts. Vendors hawking wares from as far away as Absalom, apprentice mages delighting their friends by making lights dance from their hands, bards jostling for attention from passersby. Hammers sounded in the distance. And yet, there was a dullness to people's eyes that Munira had hoped never to see after the Bloom. The Rushlight Tournament had bought her time, but she had to put an end to Irovetti soon.

She and Octavia made a left turn, and Munira was confronted with both her greatest hope and her greatest failure. Two buildings stood at opposite ends of the square. The Grand University of Lemair was slightly newer, a soaring edifice of domes and marble. Alchemists, mages, and legalists alike congregated within its walls. Its mission was nothing less then the storage, transmission, and advancement of all knowledge within Golarion. No one was turned away, no matter their race or bloodline. The other building was almost as large, but constructed of plain, sturdy stone with the only adornment being the name engraved above the door: JHOD KAVAKEN HOSPITAL.

Kalikke met them at the entrance. She looked even more exhausted than them, but gave Munira a triumphant smile. "Your Highness." She bowed. "I managed to isolate the impurities in the water. A few priests and I should be able to remove the poison without having to dig entirely new wells, though I might suggest a generous donation to temples of Erastil in hopes of getting more help. The faster this crisis is resolved, the better."

"You'll have it." It would be a very generous donation, along with reminders of everything Jhod had done for the fledgling kingdom, and a plea that the money be used to help villages on the fringes of civilization. Munira held up her case of infusions. "But we can help those who are already sick. Lead the way."

Kalikke didn't move. "Is something wrong?" Munira asked

"It's nothing." Kalikke glanced around to make certain they were alone and dropped her voice to a whisper. "The illusion magic you use, it's so similar to the Forefather's. I always worry that you're tempting fate."

"Don't say such things." Octavia shook her head. "Haven't you noticed that saying things around here makes them happen? Besides, I'm a good illusionist and if there's anything I know, is how to help a woman look her best in even the most trying circumstances."

Munira smiled. "Irovetti's greatest weapon is propaganda. It's not enough to do good. The queen and her inner circle have to be seen doing it." She forced down the butterflies in her stomach. The illusion had held for years. She and Octavia were careful only to use it when interacting closely with those who didn't know what she was. And even if the worst were to come to pass, Kalikke and Kanerah had lived in Lemair almost as long as it had existed. And Munira was the kingdom's beloved founder and queen who had saved it from bandits, trolls, and countless other horrors. The people would still love her.

Still, she double checked the illusion before entering the ward.

The old prison had been transformed into a clean and well-lit hospital. The cell they entered currently housed a single patient and his family. The boy couldn't have been more than seven or eight, with hair like copper and eyes that burned with both fever and heavenly light. Munira swallowed. Aasmir had always made her uneasy, causing a prickle on the back of her neck that never went away. It was a foolish prejudice, even if it was carried in her blood. They all served the cause of good, even if she had had to choose against her own nature.

The healer and a woman in silks who must have been the boy's mother shot to their feet as she entered. "Your Highness," she said and curtsied low. "Thank you so much. Avan hasn't been able to keep anything down for days, and he's mad with fever."

"Hallucinations, thrashing, vomiting," the healer clarified. "He's strong, but he'll die of thirst unless we can settle him. And the priests' spells are close to being exhausted."

"They should have seen him sooner!" The woman's voice broke. "Our estates provide more than its share of tax money. My husband lost his life to the accursed Bloom. Avan should have been seen first, not those peasants! Haven't I sacrificed enough?" She trembled and collapsed back in her chair. "I can't lose my son."

"Those peasants matter quite as much as anyone else." Octavia's eyes were hard. "But we'll do everything we can to save your son."

"I promise," Munira added. "As your queen and as a healer. If you could give me space to work? Octavia, if you could come around on the other side and hold his hand? I'm afraid this won't be pleasant."

She took out a small knife and some tubing. Infusions worked best when introduced directly into the blood and in precise quantities. The boy moaned in pain as she drew blood. Munira kept her eyes on him as Octavia and Kalikke provided comforting prattle. Avan's's skin was ashen, and his cheeks were hollow. She pressed his fingernails until the skin was white, and color did not return for several long moments. Death was even more of a possibility than she had feared. Something dark stirred within her. It would be a agonizing death, his insides shriveling up as fluid was expelled via vomiting and defecation,. It would take days as he wished for death and could not find it. His flesh would rot and the stench would fill the air and...

Munira made a fist and stabbed her palm with her nail as her uncle had taught her. She was more than her daemon blood and its fascination with decay. Even before she had made a baroness, she had been charged to bring healing who needed it. Aasmir included. "Easy, lad."

Avan thrashed with as much energy as his feeble little body could muster. He screamed. "The demon lady! Don't let the demon lady get me!"

Octavia made a soothing noise. "Shh. It's all right. Kalikke's a friend."

But Avan was staring at Munira with glowing, wild eyes. He whimpered. "Don't hurt me. Mama, her hands are all rotty."

Munira looked down at her hands. The illusion was of long fingers callused and scarred from a lifetime of both experiments and handling weapons. Her real hands, the ones she could see when she concentrated, were more claws than anything human, too little skin stretched over too much bone and covered in sores. Death made flesh.

And sometimes those who fought on the edge of life could see death. Especially when otherworldly blood ran in their veins. Her stomach lurched. Idiot. He had seen her as he really was. This was how Lemair would fall: not some scheme of Irovetti's or Nyrissa's, but a sick, frightened boy.

A patient. If she only had a few more moments wearing the crown, there was only one way to spend them. She put more of the infusion into the tubing. His blood would burn like the flames of the Abyss, but the poison would be consumed before he was with any luck, and he would live. The boy thrashed and screamed and then fell silent, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

Munira let out a breath. The air seemed to weigh down on her as the seconds ticked by. She ought to feel elated at successfully treating the boy or terrified that he had seen through her disguise, but she was too tired to feel much of anything. She had acted as best she could. Avan would recover or not. She would be overthrown or not. Nyrissa would get her last grain or not. The only thing Munira could do was wait.

It was Avan's mother who spoke first. "Is he...will he?"

The healer looked at Munira, less an acknowledgment of her crown than of her professional competence. "With luck, he will. These cases can go either way, but a well-cared-for, previously healthy child has a better chance than most."

She closed her eyes. "Thank you, I suppose. I wish you hadn't brought her with you." She pointed a finger at Kalikke. "Your kind are only fit for frightening children. I suppose you get some kind of sick pleasure out of it."

Kalikke didn't move, but the blue of her eyes darkened. "I take no pleasure in any being's pain."

Munira swallowed a hysterical laugh. Of course. She could do everything short of dispelling the illusion entirely, and the people would blame anything odd on the much more obvious tiefling with horns and a tail. The tiefling who had worked tirelessly to purify the water. "I daresay he was frightened of me and my scars." Ice crept into her voice. "Don't slander your fellow subjects, especially those who have their life on the line for this kingdom time and again."

The woman shrank in her seat. "I'm sorry, Your Highness." She took Avan's hand from Octavia. When she spoke again, her voice was so quiet that an ordinary human wouldn't have heard her. "Can you blame us? Having hellspawn right here in the capital? It's a wonder even worse things don't happen."

The rest of her rounds passed without incident, but with every infusion, the fatigue settled deeper over Munira's body. Kalikke stayed away as much as was possible, but Munira noticed the wide eyes as she she passed by. Fear, even after all these years. Kalikke and Kanerah were tolerated, but only because Lemair had attracted the sort of people who considered lynch mobs something that simply was Not Done. The law could guarantee certain rights, but all the edicts and building projects couldn't buy one scrap of love.

She walked into the square some hours later, bone weary and wishing only for a good book. Octavia, though, was all righteous energy and anger. She put an arm around Kalikke. "She had no right to speak to you that way. You're one of the kindest souls I've ever met, and she had the nerve to distrust you because you have a tail. I should have made her grow horns."

"I don't think that would have helped. And the poor woman is under enough stress as it is." Kalikke smiled sadly. "But thank you for saying it."

"Still, when so many people get away with the worst kinds of crimes because of who they know or how much money they have, and you get blamed for things you didn't even do? I wish that I could snap my fingers and make people see sense." She turned to Munira. "I wish you could show them how stupid their prejudices really are, that everything they depend on was built by one of those hellspawn!"

"Daemon-spawn," Munira said with a lightness she didn't feel. "They wouldn't thank me for it. And I don't think they would want to be governed by a tiefling, no matter how benevolent." She gestured toward the university. "All the learning, all the land reforms that you instituted to help the common people, gone in a puff of smoke."

"I know," Octavia said with a sigh. "I can still hope. Life is nothing without dreams."

_The Guardian of the Bloom was barely more than a shadow, and she was still the most beautiful thing Munira had ever seen. She smelled of the forest after spring rains and of fresh, clean earth and of everything Munira had ever been told wasn't for her. "All that lives must dream. I dreamed of a true faerie kingdom, the best of your world and mine." Her eyes changed, and for a moment Munira could see a creature had lived for ages beyond counting. "My dream attracted the attention of great powers, and I was forced to flee." She brushed Munira's hand, and it was like the touch of a flower petal. "But I'm starting to believe that I could build a new dream."_

Munira blinked. She wouldn't think about lies or what wasn't possible, no matter how much she wished the truth were otherwise. "I think we're all exhausted. Get some rest. You both did excellent work today."

"You get some rest," Octavia said. "And remember that people love you."

A page was waiting for Munira when she entered the palace. "Message from the Magister for you, Your Highness," he said and handed her a piece of parchment.

Munira nodded a dismissal and read.

_I've completed research into Ivar's apparent cure. I say "apparent" because my examination revealed he still suffers from lycanthropy. What has changed is that he has come to terms with his curse and therefore obtained an element of mastery. That that the mental state of the victim affects the course of a curse has implications that I look forward to discussing with you at your earliest convenience._

It seemed she would be spending tomorrow with the Storyteller. That meant that tomorrow would be better than today. The Stolen Lands were chock full of curses even without Nyrissa's machinations. Mysteries to solve and wounds to heal. Things that could be understood and conquered with enough intelligence and determination. The killer could become a hero. The monster could become a savior. She only had to figure out how and the dark forces would lose yet another weapon.

Munira entered the royal apartments. Royal laboratory and library, more like. Her notes from her ongoing experiments in the treatment of waterborne magical diseases lay scattered across her desk along with books on curses and an adventure novel Linzi had bought to cheer her up during the Bloom. Eclectic, haphazard. Her uncle hadn't had much time for the tiefling infant abandoned on his doorstep, but he had made sure she had an excellent education. And she had always loved stories best. She picked up the book and threw herself into the chair by the fire. Rest. She would meet for a few minutes and then returned to work. _Once upon a time, there was a poor woodcutter who wished for a child, even if he should have the face of an orc._ Her eyelids grew heavy.

"Ah, my hound. Still dreaming of love and adventure."

Munira's eyes snapped open. She stood in the courtyard of the Verdant Chambers, under the same tree where she had learned Nyrissa's true nature. Nyrissa herself stood a few feet away, arms crossed and scowling. The stones around her were hazy, but the nymph herself was as sharp as lightning. Her blue eyes were bright, and Munira fought a gasp. Nyrissa was still the most beautiful creature in the world, even after all she had learned. "This connection is becoming an annoyance."

"This visit isn't by choice." Which was intriguing and frightening in equal measure. To speak in dreams was complex but standard magic. A visit to each other's dreams not initiated by either party spoke of a connection that was taking on a life of its own. Which was so much more charming when it was between destined lovers in a story and not mortal enemies. "If you would let me help you, then maybe we could turn it to some good purpose. I've seen what you were before."

"You've seen what I can never be again. Even when the curse is broken, I'll bear the scars of the centuries." She laughed, but it was without humor or triumph. Without hope. "Were you always this stubborn in trying to save things that cannot be saved? Your kingdom will fall."

"Not while I draw breath. Not to a monster like Irovetti. I will free Pitax."

"And then I will lack only one grain for my cup." She took a half step towards Munira. "Why did you have to make peace between the idiot Swordlord and her queen? It would have been so easy to ruin both kingdoms and free myself."

"War between the Aldori and Brevoy would be a bloodbath. There's enough suffering in the world without adding to it."

"Suffering comes either way. All we can choose is who bears it. It did not have to be you. It does not have to be you." Another step. Munira could smell Nyrissa now: still sweet and clean and promising new life and love. "Your kingdom doesn't want you. They want the lie. You want to help me? Let Lemair fall." Her voice trembled. "I'll give you the love you want. Not mere sex. Something that will please the bards. We'll study realms you never dreamed existed. I'll give you everything you want." Another step. She took Munita's hand. It felt the same too. "Don't force me to destroy you."

Munira looked down at their joined hands. Immaculate green intertwined with diseased pallor. Nyrissa wasn't lying and therein lay the torture. She would give her restored heart to Munira, or try to, and become as close to the Guardian of the Bloom as possible. All Munira had to do was let the Stolen Lands plunge into the same anarchy it had suffered for a thousand years. The strong doing whatever they pleased to the week. And no more universities.

She disentangled their hands gently but firmly. "All that lives dreams. I won't sacrifice mine, not even for you."

"It's only a matter of time before it crashes down around you."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I must try. Every alchemical discovery was impossible until it was achieved. The Stolen Lands aren't doomed. Neither are you. Every curse has a loophole. Let me help you find it."

Nyrissa stroked her cheek with no trace of hostility. "My hound, you remind me of a very foolish nymph. She never gave up either. I wish I could love you. I wish you were right. Goodbye."

Munira awoke to an aching back from sprawling in the chair. She sighed and looked at the book in her lap. She had her tale of romance and a kingdom in peril. Only the last few pages had yet to be written and those would determine whether it was a heroic epic of a kingdom's founding and a curse broken or the tragedy of a daemon child who moved beyond her station.

She stood. There was work to be done, no matter how it all turned out. But all the same, she hoped.


End file.
